


someone will remember us, even in another time

by andrewminyards



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Feels, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Identity Reveal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Self-Esteem Issues, Separations and Reunions, Soft Triss Merigold, Soft Yennefer, The Ascension - Freeform, Trial Of The Grasses (The Witcher), Witcher Triss Merigold, they’re lesbians your honour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28815450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andrewminyards/pseuds/andrewminyards
Summary: “Thank you for giving me my flower back!” the girl exclaims when Yennefer hands her the flower, beaming brightly at Yennefer. “It's nice to meet you. My name is Triss!”“I'm Yennefer,” Yennefer mumbles, curling her shoulders inwards, bracing herself for the inevitable disgust and hatred when Triss sees her crooked spine, but Triss only smiles at her, bright and warm, and Yennefer doesn’tunderstand. Why doesn't Triss flinch away from her like all the other children do?“You seem lonely, Yennefer. Do you want to be friends?”Afriend. Yennefer's never had a friend before. She wonders what it’s like, whether Triss will be nice to her, whether Triss will stay by her side, and gods, shewantsto be Triss' friend, to play and chatter and laugh with her, something Yennefer has never gotten to do with other children.Or:Yennefer and Triss meet when they're children, only to be torn apart a decade later, and they spend decades thinking that the other is dead. But one day, when a sorceress of Aretuza saves a witcher of Kaer Seren, Yennefer wonders why this witcher looks sofamiliar. But Triss is dead, isn't she?
Relationships: Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 21
Kudos: 126
Collections: The Witcher Quick Fic #04





	someone will remember us, even in another time

**Author's Note:**

> to clarify, yennefer and triss are about 6/7 when they meet, and they separate about a decade later. i know that the trials are meant to happen somewhere around early teens, but i'm pushing them back for the sake of this fic

There is a girl skipping outside of the barn.

Yennefer watches her, the girl who looks no older than Yennefer herself, watches as she weaves her way through the field, curls bouncing, getting closer and closer to where Yennefer is. As she approaches, Yennefer notices that there’s a flower tucked into the girl’s hair, white petals bright against her dark curls - a flower that gets caught in the passing breeze, pulling it away from the girl’s hair, carrying it through the air until the flower lands gently beside Yennefer’s feet. 

Slowly, Yennefer bends to pick it up. A small distance away, the girl is looking around frantically, and Yennefer takes a hesitant step forward. She should give the flower back, she knows, but she doesn’t want to approach the other girl. She knows how other children react to her - they see her, and their faces screw up in disgust, in wretched judgement, and they push her away, calling her names and spitting out insults. 

_Ugly. Abomination. Freak._

Yennefer knows why. She looks different from children her age - her back is crooked, her jaw slanted, her eyes an unnatural purple, and other children don’t like it, don’t like how she looks different, strange, _other_. So she’s learned to not come close, to keep away, even as she aches to join in their games, their chatter and laughter - and this girl, this girl with flowers in her hair, surely she won’t be any different. 

But the girl looks frantic, her bottom lip wobbling, and Yennefer can’t stand to see that. So she steps forward, slow and hesitant, and the girl’s eyes snap up to meet hers.

“Here,” Yennefer says softly, holding out the flower towards the other girl, curling her shoulders inward and bracing for the girl’s reaction. 

The girl beams brightly and takes the flower back from Yennefer, their fingers brushing, no hesitance behind her touch, so unlike the other children, who flinch and recoil from Yennefer like she’s a disease.

“Thank you!” the girl exclaims, tucking the flower behind her ear. She’s still here. She still hasn’t walked away. She hasn’t sneered at Yennefer in disgust, or pushed her to the ground with a jeering laugh, and Yennefer - she isn’t quite sure what to do.

“You’re welcome,” she mumbles, like her parents had snarled at her to do when someone thanks her, casting her eyes to the ground, fingers twisting into the rough material of her skirt. “Uh…”

“My name is Triss!” the other girl - Triss - pipes up, and Yennefer peeks up from underneath her lashes to see Triss sticking out a hand towards her, eyes bright and eager. “It’s nice to meet you! What’s your name?”

Yennefer blinks at her, gaze darting from Triss’ outstretched hand to her eager eyes, an expression that Yennefer has never seen directed towards her before, and she must be responding a little too late, because Triss’ smile starts to dim, her hand drooping slightly. Quickly, Yennefer stick out her own hand, shaking Triss’ hand a little too stiffly, her grip a little too tight, before dropping her hand back to her side.

“I’m Yennefer,” she murmurs, and Triss’ smile is as bright as the sun as she lights up, bouncing on her feet. 

“Yennefer! Thank you for giving me my flower back,” Triss gushes, and Yennefer thinks - that’s that. That’s all that will come out of this encounter, this bright and welcoming girl who’s perhaps the first person to ever smile at Yennefer in such a way, and Triss will walk away and Yennefer will never see her again. 

But Triss doesn’t leave, instead watching Yennefer with inquisitive eyes. 

“You look lonely,” Triss remarks, and Yennefer hunches in on herself, embarrassed. Of course she’s lonely. No one wants to be around her. But then - “Do you want to spend time with me? I’m just looking at the flowers - they look really pretty today.”

“I…” No one has ever done this before. Who would even _want_ Yennefer to spend time with them?

“I’ll show you which flowers I like the most,” Triss continues, reaching up to brush her fingers against the flower in her hair. “And you can tell me which ones you like. They’re all really pretty. And we can - we can be friends? Do you want to be friends?”

Her voice lilts up hopefully at the end, and Yennefer doesn’t know what she’s doing, doesn’t know if she should take this leap. A _friend._ She’s never had a friend before. She wonders what it’s like, whether Triss will be nice to her, whether Triss will stay by her side. 

Triss is looking at her, eyes wide and hopeful. She’s so _nice_ , so bright, and Yennefer wants to be her friend, wants to play and chatter and laugh with her like the other children do with each other. 

She takes the leap.

“Alright,” she agrees, and Triss beams once again, grabbing Yennefer’s hand without reserve and guiding her towards the fields. “So. Uh. The flower in your hair - it’s really pretty. What - what flower is it?”

“Oh!” Triss touches the bright petals of the flower before glancing back towards Yennefer. “They’re white carnations. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

Yennefer bobs her head in agreement, casting her gaze out towards the field before her before hesitantly pointing at a pink blossom at her feet. “And - and this one?”

“It’s a tulip!” Triss tells her, and that’s how the afternoon goes, Yennefer pointing out flowers that catch her eye, and Triss telling her about them. It’s - it’s nice, to have company, to have someone who doesn’t look at her with disgust or hate or judgement in their eyes, to have someone who smiles at her, bright and easy, like she isn’t the crooked girl who’s insulted by her everyone around her, like she’s worth spending time around. Like she’s a _friend._

That night, her stepfather’s disgusted glare doesn’t bother her for once. She’s too busy thinking of the joy of the afternoon, Triss’ smile and laughter, the way Yennefer’s own cheeks had started to hurt from how much Triss made her smile in a way she’s never smiled before. 

Perhaps - perhaps Triss could be a friend. 

Yennefer doesn’t expect to run into Triss again. But the next day, Triss finds her outside the barn with an eager smile and an outstretched hand, and they play in the fields until they’re both breathless and panting, smiles splitting their faces. And the next day, and the next, and the next - 

Yennefer expects Triss to just - stop showing up one day. There’s no way that Triss will stay. One day, she’ll realise that all those other children are right, that Yennefer is too strange and ugly to be friends with, that she’s a freak - but Triss never leaves. She stays, her smiles never wavering and her laughs always bright, her touch always warm and her embraces always gentle - she stays, a bright spot in Yennefer’s life, for days and weeks and months. 

One day, Yennefer tackles Triss down with a triumphant yell before they both flop down on the ground, giggling and breathless, and she realises that it’s been over a year since she’d first met Triss, a year since Yennefer’s life has brightened up, become more than the hateful glances sent towards her, a year since Triss had first smiled at her and called her a friend. 

And they _are_ friends. They grow up and the years pass, and Triss never leaves her. Through the disgust of other people and the hatred of her parents, Triss stays by Yennefer’s side, a warm constant in her life. Unlike what Yennefer had been afraid of, Triss never abandons her, never sees her the way other people see her - Triss sees her for who she is, sees her as _Yennefer_ , not the freak or abomination that others think her to be.

Triss is Yennefer’s only friend - her _best_ friend. Yennefer learns that Triss spends so much time in the fields because her father spends his days and nights at the village tavern, drinking tankard after tankard of ale until he stumbles back home, hands itching for violence. In turn, Yennefer tells Triss about her own parents, about their disgust, about how they barely treat her as their daughter, and her stepfather’s hatred of her. 

Their families are terrible. But at least they have each other.

As they grow up, they spend their days in the field, sometimes in the village or in the woods, talking about everything and nothing, and there is no one Yennefer trusts more. Triss’ love for flowers never wavers even as she grows up, from young child to teenager, and Yennefer’s love for seeing Triss fawn over flowers never abates. 

They stay by each other’s side - for years, for a decade. Triss never leaves, and Yennefer loves her for that. 

* * *

“Yenna,” Triss murmurs, and Yennefer twists around to glance at Triss, who’d been fiddling with something in her lap. They’re staying late in the woods tonight - when Yennefer walked Triss home, they could hear the slurs of angry shouting even from a distance, so Yennefer had brought Triss back to the woods, huddling around a fire. 

“Hmm?”

“Here, take this.” Triss stretches her arm out towards Yennefer, and in the flickering light of the fire, Yennefer sees a thin necklace held in her hand. “A little something for you.”

“Oh?” Yennefer asks, smiling fondly as she reaches out to take the necklace from Triss. A charm dangles at the end of it, shaped like a flower, and Yennefer’s heart warms. “This is really pretty, Triss. Thank you.”

Triss smiles, cheeks dimpling. The firelight dances over her face, illuminating the splash of freckles across her dark skin. “I wanted to give you something, you know? Just a little token for you. A token of our friendship.”

“I love it,” Yennefer breathes out, running a finger over the metal petals, admiring the intricate details of it. Triss must have put so much work into this - it’s beautiful, and Yennefer loves it, loves it because Triss made it for _her_. She clasps it around her neck, cheeks warm in a way that might not be caused by the fire. “I want to give you one too. A token. Tomorrow - I’ll give it to you tomorrow.”

The smile that Triss gives her is sweet, and she scoots closer to Yennefer, wrapping an arm around her. Instinctively, Yennefer leans into her embrace, relishing in the warmth of Triss’ body pressed against hers. They’ve hugged and cuddled together many times over the years - Triss is the only one who ever touches Yennefer like this, freely and without reserve, never shying away from her, and Yennefer loves her for it. 

When Yennefer turns to glance to Triss, Triss is gazing at her with fond brown eyes, lips tilted in an affectionate grin, and in that moment, something compels Yennefer to lean forward, to press her lips to Triss’ cheek, to the freckles dotting her skin. Triss lets out a soft gasp, but she’s smiling at Yennefer, smiling and turning her head and pressing their lips together, easy and natural, like they’ve been doing this their whole lives. 

It’s - it’s nice. Triss’ lips are soft, her hands warm where she’s holding Yennefer, and Yennefer presses closer, seeking the warmth and brightness that only Triss can give her. Against her lips, Triss is smiling, and Yennefer knows she’s smiling too, so wide that it almost hurts, light with giddiness, and it’s wonderful and _perfect._

The kiss - it’s something more than simply their friendship, something different, but it feels _right_ , to slot their lips together, to kiss Triss until they’re both smiling and breathless. 

“I look forward to it,” Triss whispers when she pulls away. She’s beaming, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. She looks so _happy_ , a happiness that is reflected in how _light_ Yennefer feels. 

Triss’ arm tightens around Yennefer, and Yennefer curls one hand around the flower charm at her neck, her heart glowing warm, quietly enjoying the moment - her and Triss pressed close together, the fire dancing before them, the starry sky stretching above, and she lets herself forget about her family, about her twisted spine and crooked jaw, lets herself sink into the warmth of Triss’ arms. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she’ll get Triss a token - something to do with flowers, maybe. Something that represents how warm and lovely and bright Triss is, how much she means to Yennefer, how much Yennefer trusts her. She ponders this for the rest of the night as she and Triss make quiet conversation, exchanging light kisses, before they eventually return to their respective homes. She ponders this as she falls asleep, and the next morning, she wakes up early, intending to go through the flowers in the fields to find one that’s perfect for Triss. 

Some time later, she finds a sunflower, its yellow petals blooming bright. It reminds Yennefer of Triss, of the way she smiles despite how her father had beaten her the night before, how she laughs, joyous and unrestrained, around Yennefer, how her smiles always lift Yennefer’s mood. 

It will wilt eventually, but it’s _perfect_ , and Yennefer bends down, plucking it from the ground. Triss will love it.

But as she walks towards Triss’ house, there’s a sudden cry from a small distance away - a cry that she recognises as Triss’, coming from the direction of her house, and Yennefer breaks into a run, racing towards Triss’ house as fast as she can, ignoring the pain shooting up her back and how her breaths come in short bursts.

She arrives to see a tall man clad in black dragging Triss away. 

“No!” Yennefer cries, racing towards the man, knowing that her attempts to help Triss will be futile - the man is massive, towering over her, two huge swords strapped to his back, and Triss is struggling in his grip, looking small and frightened, her struggles utterly futile. The man sends Yennefer a bored gaze - golden eyes, slit pupils, a _witcher_ \- and stalks away, Yennefer too slow to keep up with his long strides, and she stumbles, her back aching too much for her to keep going, having pushed herself to the limits from how fast she’d run earlier. 

Triss twists around in the man’s grip, meeting Yennefer’s gaze. Her eyes are frantic and fearful, and Yennefer hates seeing that look in Triss’ eyes, hates that she can do nothing but stumble towards the witcher as he gets further and further away, pain shooting through her body with every step she takes. She can’t let him take Triss, Yennefer thinks desperately, but she’s too slow, too weak.

The witcher hauls Triss up onto his horse and gallops away, and Yennefer yells after Triss, trying to get the witcher to stop, but he takes no heed, galloping away until Yennefer can see nothing but a trail of dust. 

She collapses to her knees, staring at where Triss had disappeared, at where the witcher had taken Triss. 

Triss is _gone_. 

That witcher had taken Triss, and Yennefer knows that he’s not coming back, knows that he’s taking Triss somewhere Yennefer can’t follow. She’ll never see Triss again, Yennefer realises - she’s heard stories about witchers taking children, and the children never returning to their families.

She’ll never see Triss again. The realisation makes her numb, and the sunflower in Yennefer’s hand drops to the ground as her body heaves in a sob. Sweet, warm, bright Triss, who’s never been anything but kind to Yennefer, who’s been the only one to accept Yennefer for who she is, to be _friends_ with her - and now she’s gone, taken by a witcher to somewhere Yennefer can’t reach.

* * *

She returns home, numb with grief and loss. Her stepfather yells at her, but Yennefer barely registers his words as she curls up in her bed, her heart heavy as she clutches desperately at the necklace Triss had given her the day before. All she wants is to get Triss _back_. If only Yennefer weren’t so weak. If only her body would allow her to chase after the witcher, if only she could get to Triss and bring her back, if only - 

When she opens her eyes, she’s somewhere else, and there’s a man looking at her. The man tells her about magic, gives her a flower, and Yennefer doesn’t know what’s happening, whirling with grief and confusion -

Then Tissaia comes for her, her stepfather sells her, and she’s taken to Aretuza. 

What is she doing here, Yennefer wonders as she sits in her strange new chambers. Why is she even _here?_ She can - she can _portal_ , somehow, but she can’t get to Triss. She doesn’t know where Triss is. Gods, Triss might not even be _alive_ now, and Yennefer feels herself start shaking at the thought, but she’s too numb, too detached from her body. 

Triss is gone. And Yennefer - she’s here. She has no one.

She goes through her lessons in Aretuza mechanically. She grows and develops her chaos, trains herself to become stronger. Her fellow students look at her warily, inching away from her, and years ago, Yennefer would have felt hurt at the way they turn away from her, but now, she’s too numb. They can ignore her all they want. It doesn’t matter anyway now that Yennefer is alone, now that Triss isn’t here. 

Triss has always been the only one whose opinion mattered to Yennefer anyway. She doesn’t care what the other students think of her - strange, disfigured, a freak. None of it matters. Not with Triss just - gone. Taken by that witcher, taken out of Yennefer’s reach. 

Triss must be dead now. Yennefer can’t bear to think of what the witcher might have done, can’t bear to think about the stories, about the cruelty of witchers, the way they take children who will never return. Yennefer doesn’t want to lose hope, but she knows that stories are rooted in truth. 

Triss is gone. 

The years pass. Yennefer gains control of her chaos, bends nature to her will, gathers power in her hands until she is ready for the Ascension. Grief ticks through her every day, manifesting in the wildness of her chaos, in her bursts of power - she never forgets. She never lets herself forget, holding the memory of Triss close to her heart even though she’s gone, the memory of laughter and gentle touches reminding her that she was once _loved_. 

Yennefer goes through the Ascension. She is remade in flames, and she screams as scorching heat sears through her body, straightening her spine and her jaw, taking out everything that is imperfect, and it _burns_ -

– The scream that rips from Triss’ throat rends it raw, the flames of the Trials blazing through her veins, her body twisting and contorting as the mutagens sink into her body, burning away all that is frail and weak and making her better, making her stronger -

– It’s painful, so utterly painful, and Yennefer forces herself to hold on. The pain is unlike anything she’s ever felt before, and she takes comfort in the solid weight of the charm that rests on her chest, grounds herself in its presence, letting her mind drift to better times, phantom laughter ringing in her ears -

– She can get through this. Someone is waiting for her on the other side, _someone_ \- Yennefer, dancing violet eyes and gentle smiles, soft laughter in the fields and warm embraces. Triss can get through this, because Yennefer is waiting for her back in Vengerberg, because once she gets through the training and the Trials, Triss can go back to her, so she shakes and shudders through the unbearable pain of the flames, reminding herself of Yennefer, _Yennefer_ \- 

– Yennefer throws her head back, throat raw from all the screaming, wondering when this will end. She grasps desperately at her memories, and she thinks she feels Triss’ fingers brush softly against her skin, a balm to the fire that is churning through her -

– She can have it again - joy and warmth and laughter, so different from the training she’s gone through these past few years, and Triss holds on to this _hope_ , grasping desperately at it in the midst of the inferno raging through her body. She just has to live through this and forge through the searing flames, and then she can go _back_ \- 

The flames subside, and Yennefer opens her eyes with a gasp, chest heaving, the last vestiges of phantom laughter fading away. 

There is no pain. 

She can stand straight, Yennefer realises with baffled wonder. She takes a step, and no jolt of pain flares through her spine; she twists her head from side to side, but there’s _no pain_. She rushes to the mirror, and the woman who stares back stands tall and proud, not a hint of crookedness in her spine. The woman in the mirror runs a hand over her jaw, no longer misaligned, traces her hand over her face, down her body, awe in her eyes. 

Yennefer emerges beautiful and powerful, everything she could ever want, and as she heads to the ball, each step graceful and free of pain, she sees the prospect of eternity stretching out before her - the life of a sorceress, forever young and beautiful.

She should be happy. It’s everything she could ever want. But her heart aches and aches at the thought of eternity alone, without Triss by her side. There’s still an emptiness within her, an emptiness that can only be filled by Triss, and Yennefer wonders what she would even _do_. She’s beautiful now, and people no longer look at her like they used to - she’s no longer a freak, a disfigured abomination, and they look at her with awe and wonder. 

But she is numb to it all, despite how much she once wanted all of this. Beauty, power, immortality - what do they matter when Triss is gone? The flower charm weighs heavy around her neck as she dances with the king of Vengerberg, a gracious smile plastered on her face as her mind wanders to somewhere - to someone - far away, where Yennefer can’t reach. 

She will _live_ , Yennefer decides. She will live on for Triss, who’d been so bright, so vibrant, so full of life - she will live on with the memory of Triss burned into her mind, etched into the depths of her soul, because that’s what Triss would have wanted. She will live for Triss. She will hold Triss’ bright laughter in her heart, carrying on the memory of her warm smiles. Triss’ light burned out too early - Yennefer sees the way eternity stretches out before her, and vows to carry Triss’ light for as long as she will live.

Triss’ token hangs from her chest, a reminder, a memory, one that will stay with Yennefer for decades to come.

* * *

The flames recede, leaving Triss gasping for air, every breath tearing at her throat, raw from screaming. When she opens her eyes, they’re a burning gold. 

She lived. She survived the Trials - she’s _alive._

Triss stumbles off the table, her feet unsteady as she stumbles to the door, excitement building within her. The past few years have been nothing but grueling training, her instructors putting a sword in her hand and throwing her into fight after fight after fight, teaching her how to stab and slash and duck, how to brew potions, how to be a witcher. 

She’d wanted to give up so many times, the exhaustion of it all weighing on her, but the memory of violet eyes and gentle smiles had kept her going. The hope of returning to Yennefer had kept her going - if she could get through the training, if she get through the Trials, she would be able to return to Yennefer, who Triss hopes still waits for her. 

And now - she’s survived the Trials. There’s still training needed to be done before she sets out on the Path, but there’s a bounce to her step as she stumbles back to her room, an excitement at the prospect of returning home, of seeing Yennefer again and holding her close, never letting her go. She remembers the desperation in Yennefer’s eyes when Triss had been taken away, remembers the way something in Yennefer’s eyes had shattered when she realised she wouldn’t be able to get Triss back, and Triss aches to return and reassure Yennefer that she’s _here_ , that she won’t be leaving again. 

She will be able to. Soon. Just some more time training - and then she can return.

* * *

The fields are empty. The woods are empty. The barn is empty.

Gritting her teeth, Triss heads over to a familiar house, hatred flaring in her at the sight, and knocks on the door.

“Where is Yennefer?” Triss demands, glaring at the man in the doorway, who cowers from her golden eyes and deadly swords. 

“W-what’s it to you, _beast?_ ” Yennefer’s stepfather spits out, fear and disgust in his eyes, and Triss hates him, hates him for all that he’s done to Yennefer over the years.

“Where is Yennefer.” Triss had told herself she wouldn’t do this, wouldn’t use her status as a witcher to intimidate others - but she _can’t find Yennefer_ , and somehow, she knows that this man is responsible.

Yennefer’s stepfather cringes backwards, the scent of his fear putrid and sour, but he meets her eyes and spits, “She’s _gone_ , mutant. I don’t know why you’re trying to find her, but - she’s gone. Good riddance.”

No. It can’t be. Yennefer can’t be - she can’t be _gone_. 

“ _What?_ ” It’s a broken whisper, pained and shattered, and Triss can’t believe it. She _can’t_. But she can’t find Yennefer anywhere, and even with her enhanced senses, she can’t catch a single trace of Yennefer’s scent anywhere. 

“She’s gone,” the despicable man croaks, an ugly grin splitting his face, and Triss’ fists clench. “I got rid of her, that freak. I -”

He drops to the ground, Triss’ dagger in his throat. She’s trembling as she bends down to pick it up, trembling with shock and anger and dread. 

She doesn’t want to believe it. But Triss has scoured their hometown, scoured their favourite haunts, all without picking up the faintest trace of Yennefer’s scent. And this man had said, a cruel grin on his face, that Yennefer is gone, that he’d gotten _rid_ of her -

Triss had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t use what she’d learned against humans, only against the monsters and beasts she was made to fight. She’d sworn to stay kind and gentle despite the violence that permeates the life of a witcher, to keep her swords reserved for protecting humanity. But she feels no remorse at killing Yennefer’s stepfather - _she’s gone, I got rid of her_ \- no remorse for killing the monster who must have killed Yennefer, or at least led her to certain death. 

Gods, Yennefer is gone. Triss walks away from the house, pressing her palms to her stinging eyes. Fuck, she’d thought - when she’d been taken away, she kept holding out hope that she would live through the training and the Trials, that she would return to Yennefer one day. 

But Yennefer is gone, that bright light of hers snuffed out by that bastard of a stepfather. Yennefer is gone, and Triss will never hear her laugh again, will never see the way her violet eyes crinkle when she smiles, will never feel her gentle embraces - and it hurts. It hurts to know that all this is gone, now, beyond her reach. 

But she must continue on the Path. At the very least, she can use her skills to prevent more children from being lost to their best friends like Triss had lost Yennefer.

* * *

When Triss had crept up on the griffin’s nest, she had expected one griffin, not two. But there are two griffins bearing down on her now, forcing her closer and closer to the edge of the cliff, and Triss is desperate. She barely dodges a lunge from one griffin, managing to singe its wings with Igni, before the other griffin swoops in, talons extending towards her and slashing across her back. 

Pain blooms across her back, but Triss grits her teeth and powers on, gathering the reserves of her power to cast Aard at one griffin, sending it crashing down the cliff and taking the opportunity to finish off the other griffin with a few quick strikes. She’s breathing hard, and the first griffin quickly recovers from Triss’ Aard, diving towards her. Triss is bleeding from multiple wounds, and she’s getting sluggish, her sword slashing weakly at the griffin, who swerves out of reach before darting back in, lightning-quick.

Talons dig into her free arm, and she screams as spots start dancing across her vision. She’s going to lose consciousness soon, she knows, and she pushes through the sluggishness, using the last of her strength to surge forward and plunge her sword into the griffin’s heart. But the momentum carries her forward until she’s tumbling off the cliff, and she can’t stop herself because her vision is blurring, she’s going to pass out, she has far too many wounds and -

* * *

As Triss claws her way back into consciousness, she slowly becomes aware of her surroundings - the mixed scent of various herbs, the soft clink of glass against glass, the aching pain in her body, and she forces herself to open her eyes, wincing at the way the sunlight pierces her too-sensitive eyes.

She’s in a herb shop of some sort, it seems. Vials of liquid line the walls, various herbs scattered across the room, and she glances around warily, spotting her armour and swords laid out neatly next to her, polished and clean. 

“Witcher,” a soft voice greets, and Triss snaps her head in the direction of the voice. A woman stands before her, a vial held in her hand. She’s beautiful, clad in a long, flowing dress, dark hair tumbling in waves over her shoulders. She’s studying Triss with her head tilted, the violet of her eyes brightened by the blue shadow on her eyelids, and against Triss’ chest, her medallion hums. “You’re awake.”

“Mage,” Triss returns cautiously. She’s been wary of mages, knowing what some of them had done to Kaer Seren, and though her body still aches, her limbs weak, she finds her fingers curling in preparation to cast a sign, her hand itching for her swords. But this mage had saved her, and something about her presence, about the intensity of her eyes, causes something to settle within Triss, so she forces herself to relax. Perhaps this mage can be trusted. “I assume that you saved me?”

“A few villagers found your body after you killed the griffins,” the mage explains, setting down the vial in her hands and walking towards Triss, and Triss has to force herself not to tense up. “They brought you to me. I healed you.”

“Thank you,” Triss murmurs, still wary that the mage might have ulterior motives, but grateful that the mage had healed her. “I was careless. Didn’t expect there to be two of them.”

“Hm.” The mage stops next to Triss’ bed, examining her. This close, her violet eyes pull at Triss, tug at her heart, but Triss forces down her memories, reminding herself that it’s been decades, that Yennefer is gone. Besides, this mage is looking at her with something like disdain, one corner of her lips curling up in a sneer. “Let me tell you this, witcher. I am not fond of your kind. I only healed you because you saved this town from those griffins, and I happen to live in this town, so I merely returned the favour. Don’t mistake this for kindness.”

The fact that the mage doesn’t like witchers isn’t a surprise, but it still stings, and Triss schools her expression into neutrality. “Very well, mage. I appreciate your services, and I will be out of your hair as soon as I recover.”

“See that you do,” the mage says coldly, eyes lingering on Triss’ swords before walking away. “Your body was heavily injured, so you will need to stay here for a couple of days.”

“And your payment?” Triss asks, knowing that things like this never come without a price, and the mage stops, turning back around. 

“You killed the griffins, so I won’t demand payment,” she says, and Triss slumps in relief.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and the mage gives her a curt nod before disappearing into the depths of this shop, or whatever this place is, leaving Triss staring after her, an inexplicable ache in her heart. 

Over the next few days, Triss slowly recovers, the mage checking in on her every once in a while. They barely interact, but Triss feels something jolt through her every time their eyes meet, and she doesn’t know _why_. 

Who _is_ this mage?

* * *

“Tell me this, witcher.” The mage voice startles Triss from where she’d been polishing her swords, and she looks up to see the mage glancing down at her. 

“Yes?”

“I’ve always been curious,” the mage murmurs, prowling around Triss’ bed, eyes never leaving Triss’ face. “There are stories about you. Stories that witchers take children, and the children never return. What is the truth that lies behind these stories, I wonder? What do you do to these children?”

At the mage’s words, bitterness brews on Triss’ tongue, bitterness at the memory of being taken away from her home, hauled onto a horse and taken to Kaer Seren while she’d cried and wailed to go back, yelling for Yennefer. 

She swallows the bitterness. It tears at her throat. “Those stories are true, I’m afraid,” she breathes out, and the mage’s beautiful face twists, grief and disdain and anger. “Sometimes it’s the law of surprise. Sometimes the children are simply unwanted. But they are given to us and taken to our keeps, where they are trained to become one of us.”

“You don’t kill them?” There’s _something_ in the mage’s voice, something almost hopeful, something that tugs at memories long past, and Triss shuts her eyes briefly. 

“I have never taken a child.” She would never do that. The memory of being taken is still seared fresh in her mind, and she wouldn’t wish that on anyone else. “But when they take us -”

“Us?” the mage cuts in, and Triss smiles, thin and wan. 

“I was one of those children, once,” she confesses, not quite sure why she’s being so honest with this stranger, this mage who’d confessed to not liking Triss’ kind, but words spill, unbidden, from her lips. “When they take us, they don’t intend to kill us. But…” she swallows, and the phantom heat of flames scorch her veins. “Most of the children are killed in the Trials. Only three in ten survive.”

The mage stares at her, wide-eyed. “So you don’t just - take children and kill them.”

“ _Gods_ , no,” Triss exclaims, shaking her head. “Well, the Trials might as well mean that most of those children are killed, but - the intent is never to kill children when they’re taken, but to train them to become witchers. Did you - did you not know that?”

“No,” the mage murmurs contemplatively, prowling closer to Triss. Her sharp eyes dart over Triss’ face over, golden eyes and jagged scars, and Triss has to fight to not shrink back under her intense scrutiny, even as warmth blooms at the proximity of the mage. “You are the first witcher I’ve met.”

“But you said - you said that you weren’t fond of my kind.” How can this mage dislike witchers when she hasn’t met any? But then, the rumours of witchers spread far and wide, rumours that don’t exactly paint them in the best light. 

“I had a friend,” the mage blurts out, before snapping her mouth shut, as if she hadn’t meant for that to come out. Her eyes roam Triss’ face, and she takes a few steps forward until she’s right next to Triss, her eyes burning into Triss. Her mouth parts, her brows furrowing, and Triss stares back at her, at the elegant lines of her face and the brightness of her eyes, wondering _why_ -

– _I was one of those children, once_ , the witcher had murmured, broken and sad, golden eyes far away, lost in a distant memory. Yennefer stares at her, stares the scar that slashes over her eye, at the way freckles dot her dark skin, at those eyes, the golden colour unfamiliar but the _shape_ of them - Yennefer knows what those eyes look like when they crinkle in laughter, when they’re wide with delight. She knows the shape of those curls, the line of that jaw, and gods, what if she’d been wrong _all along_ , what if -

“What’s your name?” the mage breathes out, eyes fixed on Triss with hope and wonder, leaning closer, closer - close enough for Triss to see a golden chain glint around her neck, and Triss’ breath catches in her throat as she follows the line of that chain down, until her eyes fix on a golden flower, the petals of which Triss knows by heart.

Because she had been the one who carved those petals.

“Yennefer?” Triss whispers, unable to stop herself from reaching out and touching her fingers to those petals, needing to reassure herself that this is real. The shape of the flower is exactly as she remembers, and Triss looks up to meet violet eyes - she knows why those eyes are so familiar, now, because they’re etched into her memory, those eyes that she has seen bright with laughter, gentle with love, dim with sorrow, and her heart blooms.

“Triss,” the mage - no, _Yennefer_ , because this is Yennefer, somehow, Yennefer is _alive_ \- murmurs, one hand reaching up to wrap around Triss’. “Triss, is that you?”

Triss swallows, tears stinging her eyes, a lump in her throat. “It’s me.” Her voice is barely a whisper as she relishes in the warmth of Yennefer’s hand wrapped around hers. She _looks_ at Yennefer, looks at the elegant lines of her face, looks at the jaw that is no longer crooked, the spine that is no longer twisted. “ _How_ -”

“Aretuza,” Yennefer says, and that explains everything - Triss knows about mages, knows about the Ascension, how mages emerge from their studies beautiful and powerful and perfect. Gods, this is what Yennefer’s stepfather had meant when he’d said he’d gotten rid of her - he’d sent her to Aretuza. 

Yennefer had always been alive - she’s always been alive for these past decades. 

“I thought you were _dead_ ,” Triss chokes out, tugging at Yennefer, and Yennefer lets Triss pull her down until she’s seated next to Triss on the bed. “I thought -”

“I thought you were dead too.” Yennefer’s voice is low and pained, sorrowful, heavy with decades of grief and loss, and Triss wraps one arm around her, pulling her closer, unable to bear being parted from Yennefer after being separated for so long. “When that witcher took you - I thought - the stories -”

“I returned home after my training was done,” Triss says, and Yennefer lets out a shuddering exhale. “I wanted to find you, but you were _gone_ , and that bastard - your stepfather - he said you were gone, and I thought - I thought he must have killed you, somehow. So I killed him.”

“I wasn’t dead.” Yennefer turns her head so that they’re face-to-face, bringing up one hand to cup Triss’ cheek, thumb tracing over the scar on her face. “I was at Aretuza.”

Triss lets out a wet laugh. “Gods, we - we spent decades apart, thinking each other dead. We could’ve had years, _decades_ -”

“We’re here now,” Yennefer breathes out, leaning their foreheads together, and Triss hasn’t experienced such tenderness in decades - the past decades have been filled with bloodshed and violence, with insults from humans and the harsh yelling of her fellow witchers. There is no room for tenderness in the life of a witcher. But Yennefer is here, touching her with gentle, kind hands, looking at her with warmth in her eyes - for the first time a long time, Triss feels _loved_.

“We’re here now,” Triss agrees, looping her arms around Yennefer’s waist and breathing her in - the scent of lilac and gooseberries, the scent of home after so long. “I’m not going to leave you again.”

“I’m not going to let you leave,” Yennefer murmurs, tightening her grip on Triss, and they fall silent, basking in each other’s presence, basking in the knowledge that they’re back together once again - that they’re alive, that they’re _here_. 

Yennefer doesn’t leave Triss’ side that day. They spend the day talking about the decades they’ve missed - Yennefer tells Triss about Aretuza, about Aedirn, about leaving the Brotherhood, and Triss tells Yennefer about the Trials, about the Path, about the monsters that she fights and the people she saves. It’s easy and comfortable, like not a single day has passed since their separation, and it’s so _easy_ to lean into Yennefer’s gentle touch and warm embrace, so easy to stare at her dancing eyes and listen to her bright laughter. 

It’s like they’ve never been apart. 

Triss is healed enough the next day for Yennefer to bring her to her garden, and Triss gasps as she gazes at the sprawling garden, laden with herbs and plants and _flowers_ of all sizes and colours. 

“I don’t know if you still like flowers the way you used to,” Yennefer begins hesitantly, gesturing at the garden before her. “But I…” Is it Triss’ imagination, or is there a hint of colour on Yennefer’s cheeks? “I’ve always remembered that you like them. So when I grow herbs in my garden, I’ve always grown some flowers alongside them.”

“I love them,” Triss breathes, taking a cautious step forward, touching the petals of a bluebell by her feet. Yennefer’s garden is _beautiful_ \- the care that has been put into it is evident in the brightness of the petals, the vibrant life humming in the air. 

“Come with me,” Yennefer murmurs, stretching out her hand for Triss to take. She guides Triss through the garden, and Triss admires it, admires the colourful flowers and the butterflies that flit through them. She’s never lost her love of flowers through the decades - she doesn’t always have time to slow down and appreciate them, not on the Path, but she’s never stopped loving them. 

Yennefer stops beside a patch of sunflowers, their petals bright, their faces turned towards the sun, and she leans down to pluck one, cupping it in her hands. Chaos hums in the air, and the sunflower shrinks until it’s small enough to be held in her palm. 

“Before you were taken, you gave me this.” Yennefer reaches up to brush her fingers against the flower charm hanging from her neck, and Triss remembers that night by the fire, the warmth underneath the canvas of stars when Triss had given Yennefer this token, when they’d kissed for the first time. “I said I would give you a token the next day, but… well. I’m giving you one now. Here.” 

She reaches for Triss’ medallion, and if Yennefer were anyone else, Triss would have snapped their wrists for daring to touch her medallion, but this is Yennefer, and Triss trusts her more than anything, so she lets Yennefer hang the small sunflower next to her medallion, whispering a spell underneath her breath. 

“A sunflower?” Triss asks, her cheeks aching from how wide she’s smiling, and Yennefer gazes back at her, soft and fond. 

“Sunflowers remind me of you,” she says, pulling Triss close, and Triss hooks her chin over Yennefer’s shoulder. “This one - I made sure that it will never wilt. You can keep it for as long as you want, and it will serve as a good luck charm, of sorts. You live a dangerous life, and I - I want you to be safe.”

“I do live a dangerous life,” Triss agrees, her mind spinning with possibilities, with _maybes_ and _what ifs_ , and she pulls back to look Yennefer in the eyes. “The Path _is_ quite dangerous. You know what might make it less dangerous?”

Yennefer’s eyes sparkle. “Do tell.”

“A sorceress of Aretuza, travelling the Path with me,” Triss whispers, and Yennefer brightens. “It would be nice to have a mage by my side, helping me on my hunts, healing me when I’m hurt.”

“Are you asking me to travel with you?” Yennefer breathes out, stepping closer, and Triss wraps her arms around Yennefer’s waist, vowing to never let go.

“Will you travel the Path with me?” Triss asks, heart in her throat. Gods, it’s all she could ever want - Yennefer travelling the Path with her, Yennefer by her side, for as long as they live. 

“Of course I will,” Yennefer murmurs, and leans forward. 

Their lips meet, and warmth fills Triss’ heart. 

After decades of loss, decades of pain and grief - she is finally here. She is finally home. 

**Author's Note:**

> hello i am just the biggest fucking sucker for childhood friend aus, complete with separations and reunions and i am also very weak to witcher ladies so this was born! this was SO RUSHED (i say that every time i write a quickfic, the word limit of 7.5k really is the bane if my existence) so all of this was crammed in there, hopefully it reads alright haha
> 
> i’ve been writing a bunch of femslash lately, so if you like this, maybe check out some of my other femslash witcher fics?🥺💓
> 
> come find me on tumblr [@jaskicr](https://jaskicr.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> also, if you love the witcher women and you love some wlw, [here's a server for all your witcher women and femslash needs](https://discord.gg/79fAesEjes)!


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